In the Arms of an Angel (Destiel)
by thefranknfurter
Summary: Dean heard the faint fluttering sound that was so familiar yet so impossible that it hurt. He froze in place, bottle halfway to his lips, listening carefully for the sound again so he could write it off as leaves in the non-existent breeze. But there was no repeat, so he turned around and exhaled sharply as if he'd been punched in the gut. "Cas?"


It was cold tonight. The wet beer bottle in his hand was chilling his bare fingers, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Despite how his body shivered in the dark, how the wind seemed to blow right through his worn leather jacket, he made no move to warm himself. He just sat on the hood of the only home he'd ever known, feeling the blood drying on his skin, drinking and drinking and drinking some more.

Sam was gone. Dean knew this was what needed to happen. If Sam didn't jump into the Pit, dragging Lucifer (and Michael too) along for the ride, then the whole world would be blown all to hell, billions dead, demons on the loose, blah blah blah. He also knew he promised his brother that he would not try to bring him back, least he also accidently bring Lucifer back and then all their work would be for shit. And also promised Sam he would move on. He would go to Lisa and Ben, he would lead a normal apple-pie life and the world would keep revolving on its stupid little axis another day.

Well that promise was hard to make, and so much harder to keep.

He couldn't go back to Lisa and Ben, at least, not yet. Not with all this rage and raw fury built up inside him. He had to let it out. He had to use the only outlet he knew—killing evil sons of bitches like there would be no tomorrow.

Tonight it was a nest of vamps. Eight of them, all sprawled decapitated and in various states of dismemberment around his car. Dean did not look at them, with their heads and limbs all over the grass. He didn't need to. Each one's dying face was etched in his brain. And the pleasure he felt when he hacked the heads off each of them was carved there too. It was muted but it was there. And it made him so, so sick.

Dean heard the faint fluttering sound that was so familiar yet so impossible that it hurt. He froze in place, bottle halfway to his lips, listening carefully for the sound again so he could write it off as leaves in the non-existent breeze. But there was no repeat, so he turned around and exhaled sharply as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"Cas?" The brunette's expression was grim more than anything. His blue eyes glowed faintly upon seeing Dean, as he tipped his head to the side and approached the bloody man silently.

"Hello, Dean." Those otherworldly eyes raked up and down his body, and Dean repressed the urge to dig a hole in the ground and bury himself alive. He was sharply aware of the blood splattered on his body, the careless stubble on his face, the bags under his eyes, the beer in his hand. The angel's eyes returned to his face, searching a pair of dull green orbs as if the past two months were laid out there for him to see. "What happened to you?"

Dean was rendered speechless as Cas came to a stop a few inches away, his body so close that he could feel the static electricity of the angel's aura on the surface of his skin, making his hair stand on end. It took a while for Dean to come enough to his senses to realize Castiel was expecting an answer.

His brows furrowed as he came over the shock and sank right into self-righteous anger. " _Me?_ What happened to _you_ , Cas? Sam, he… Lucifer killed you. I saw it. You _exploded!_ "

Castiel's lips tilted into a sort of all-knowing smile, so gentle that it made Dean even angrier. "Does it matter? I am here now."

Dean shook his head, glancing at the sky in disbelief. "Don't gimme that load of bull-crap, Cas, dammit. I remember getting a taste of Jimmy goddamn Novak because you exploded so hard. I need an explanation, and I need it now," the hunter growled in a grief-cracked voice, feeling his hands tremble violently. He had to set down his bottle of beer so he didn't crush it.

Now Cas shook his head, raising a hand to Dean's shoulder and squeezing it in a way meant to be reassuring. But it wasn't. It was infuriating. "Dean," Cas murmured, "you'll understand soon enough. Just trust me, now is not the time."

Dean stared incredulously at his friend in silence, not at all knowing what the hell to make of this. Cas was back? How? Why would he not tell him how he's back? Dean didn't know whether to be overjoyed or scared or wary or angry or to take another sip of his beer. The hunter's hand fell to his side, the other coming up to rub his face as he sighed deeply, closing his eyes against the sight of Castiel to regain some stable ground.

That's when he felt a pair of lean but strong arms wrap around his middle, and a face press into his shoulder. Dean's eyes snapped open to find Castiel wrapping himself around him, his hands laid flat against Dean's back at a pressure between holding gently and grasping as if Dean would disappear. He felt Cas' nose against the nape of his neck, his breath against his collarbone.

For a long moment, fearless Dean Winchester was frozen. He didn't even know Castiel knew how to hug. Something was definitely different about this… an alarm was set off in the back of Dean's head. But he had no idea how to react other than to hug back, because Cas seemed not to have plans of letting go yet.

Slowly, Dean moved and wound his arms around the angel's back. At first his hold was loose and unsure, but once he was a few seconds in, smelling the familiar, comforting scent of Cas, he realized just how much he missed this. Missed him. Missed Cas. How much he needed this hug. It wasn't something he'd allow himself to say, not that it needed to be said out loud as he curled his fingers into Cas' trenchcoat and buried his face in the angel's hair.

"Dean…" he heard Cas say softly, "you're shaking."

Cas was pulling back to look at him, but he didn't want to let go. Not yet, just let him have this moment, please, Cas… But the warm body of the angel was gone. Dean let his arms fall down, unaware of how his shoulders were slumped under the weight he put on himself, and how Castiel could see straight through him.

"Are you cold?"

Dean watched Cas for a moment before he looked away, giving a slight shrug. There was a while of silence before he realized Cas was moving. He looked back to the brunette, who was sitting down in the bloodstained grass, the light from the stars making his pale skin seem to glow in the darkness. Dean once asked why he did that, if it was an angel thing, and Castiel responded yes, that the vibrancy of his true form could not be fully contained in his vessel, so when it was dark that was why he glowed faintly. Dean never found that trait particularly attractive until now.

Cas gestured for Dean to join him in the grass, a small smile on his face, as if he were coaxing a shy animal. And Dean was hesitant at first, because not but seven feet away lay a decapitated body, and near the Impala's front right wheel was a stray limb, but Cas had chosen a fairly clear spot. So Dean gave a slight nod and lowered himself beside his friend. Not _close_ , but close. Close enough to feel Cas' body heat, always slightly magnified thanks to the Chrysler-sized angel contained inside.

Castiel was looking out at the bodies and body parts scattered around the clearing, his eyes narrowed to a thoughtful, observant gaze, his expression neutral. And yet despite the angel's calm demeanor, Dean felt a ruthless mix of nausea and pressure.

Which was weird as fuck because Cas knows what he does for a living. Hell, Cas had participated in some of the killings himself. Violence was not at all new to this older-than-Dean-truly-comes-to-ever-realize angel.

But in the back of Dean's mind he knew why Cas observing his killing an entire nest of vampires all by his lonesome bothered him so much. In the core of his being, he was terrified that Castiel would see that this was not just killing monsters to save lives. It was slaughter. It was slaughter, and Dean knew it. It was slaughter because he tracked them down with the ferocity of the vengeful spirits he hunted, and he took them, and he slayed them, and he _loved it._ It brought him a sense of _satisfaction._ It was so twisted, it was so inhumane, it was so _demonic._ When he thought about it, the first thing that came to mind was Alastair. How he would smile as he cut Dean open, how he would chuckle with his corpse-breath as he tested out every instrument on the table to see what really made Dean tick, how he would lick the blood off the blades like he was having such a wonderful time gutting him.

And then Dean would think about how Alastair offered the blade up to him at the end of every session. How Dean would refuse even though he wanted to throw up because he knew this meant another day of torture, another day of being sliced apart and put back together and broken and put back together and beaten and put back together. How Dean eventually accepted the blade because he could not go another day staring Alastair in the eyes as the demon twisted a knife in his stomach.

How if he had just stayed on the rack like his father, Sam would not be in Hell.

How if he had just been the "righteous man" everyone talked about, the apocalypse wouldn't even have happened.

 _He started all of this._

And he was so afraid Castiel would see that killing these monsters has not been pure. It has been revenge, it has been a distraction, and it has been pleasure. It has been a way to indulge in his self-hate and self-destruction even more than he already was. It was a way to lose himself in the guilt so he didn't have to think about Sammy. But ended up doing just the opposite.

"Dean," Cas said, pulling the hunter out of where he'd gotten lost stumbling around in his own head. Dean looked at Cas, even though he almost didn't want to, almost afraid of what he would find there.

But Castiel was not giving him another searching look, nor was it one of pity, or even disgust. It was warm. Castiel was smiling at him like the bodies didn't exist. Like Dean was not drenched in vampire blood. Like Dean was the most intriguing puzzle, the brightest star in the sky, and the most precious gem all in one.

"C-Cas?" Dean managed, though to his embarrassment his voice broke. But Cas' smile did not falter. In fact, the angel was leaning closer. Dean watched him, frozen in place. Castiel's eyelids began to slide closed, and Dean knew immediately his intentions. He felt a lump form in his throat, preventing him from protesting even as Cas was clearly coming forward slowly on purpose, so Dean had plenty of time to pull back.

His breath hitched right before Cas' lips slotted against his. But he couldn't even think about breathing properly when Cas' warm lips started to move against his. He felt the angel's long fingers sliding up his arm, across his shoulder and up his neck to twist into his hair, the other hand laid gently on his ribs beneath his bloody jacket.

Dean was stiff in shock for a long time before he got with the program, moving in response to Cas. He lifted one hand to cup the side of Castiel's cheek, thumb gently stroking across the angel's cheekbone, feeling in his palm the movements of his jaw. He tilted his head to the side slightly for a better angle, his other hand slipping around to clutch Cas' trenchcoat in a tight grip, afraid that if he let go Cas would be gone again.

In his head, his thoughts were explosions of "what's happening?", "why is Cas doing this?", "why am _I_ doing this?", "why is Cas even alive?". But despite the unsureness and the amount of red flags thrown up in his face, Dean couldn't find it in him to push away. It had been so long since someone had kissed him like this. But it couldn't just be that… This was _Cas._ And if he was honest with himself like he hadn't been since all the shit hit the fan way back when, he wanted this. He wanted Cas. Almost as desperately as he wanted his brother back, a feeling deeply rooted beneath his skin, hooked in his very bones.

And there was something very freeing in the thought that Cas must want him too. Otherwise the angel could very easily end this, even though he'd started it.

Dean couldn't help the surprised shiver he gave when Cas' tongue swept along his bottom lip, but after a moment he eased open his mouth to accommodate the angel, who apparently wasn't nearly as innocent as he continuously let on.

If Dean had to put a name to the way Cas tasted, he would probably say home. There was no other way to put it, it was a taste that felt safe and familiar and soft and so Cas that it made his chest ache. But Dean suddenly remembered that he'd been drinking beer just before this, and he didn't want to taste like alcohol and self-pity and that be the way Cas remembers this, so he pulled away before Cas could explore too much of his mouth.

Their eyes opened at the same time, both just on this side of breathless. And even though the kiss was over, neither moved very far from each other. They just stared, eyes wide open and breath mingling, tips of their noses brushing. It was like that for a long while, silent. Dean looking into Cas' eyes and surprised to see that there was something there, something that if he didn't know any better, he'd call it sorrow. Webbed in the celestial blue was something deeply sad, something that looked like it knew some horrible truth Dean did not.

Dean's brows twitched in confusion, but just as he was about to ask what was up with Cas, the angel moved. He watched Cas' eyes close and he moved forward, pressing their brows together and tilting his head to give Dean one last kiss that left the hunter's lips tingling and pulled back, smiling.

"Come here," he said opening his arms and patting the space between his legs. Dean blinked at him, thinking he didn't hear him right. Did Cas want to… snuggle?

Dean stared blankly a moment more before he sighed and rolled his eyes, moving into Cas' lap, wondering where the hell his masculinity went and why he didn't much care anymore that this was turning so chick-flicky so fast.

He settled with his back against Castiel's chest, head resting on the angel's shoulder. Which wasn't an easy task because how much shorter Cas was than him, so it took some wiggling and adjusting for them both, but eventually Dean was comfy, so he sat stiffly against Cas, looking up to see the brunette watching the skies. And it wasn't just some stargazing, it looked like he was actually searching for something.

"Hey, Cas, what… whaaaaat is that?"

He saw Cas' lips tilt into a smile but the angel kept his gaze on the sky.

"They're called _wings_ Dean."

The hunter couldn't think up an adequate snappy response, so he just stared at the shimmer of displaced air as a pair of massive wings began to manifest. The feathers were long and slim, smooth and glossy, always making a soft _shhhh_ noise as they moved. The colors were deep blues fading into black at the tips, shiny liquid-silver streaks every so often like falling stars out of a sky. The wings were massive, of course to accommodate a Chrysler-sized angel they had to be, but they stretched up high in the sky, like two great mountains against the stars, then came softly down and wrapped themselves slowly around Dean and Cas, blocking out the chilly air and replacing it with cozy warmth.

Dean had relaxed now against Cas without realizing it, but now he sat up so he could brush his fingertips against the soft feathers. Cas rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, closing his eyes because he knew he didn't have much time left here. So instead of watching the sky for signs, he would enjoy Dean's company while he could.

Dean carded his fingers through the feathers, their texture felt like it was between the sheerness of water and the nothingness of air. Despite the heat they brought, the wings themselves were cool, like a spring breeze. He was a little taken aback by his sudden very strong urge to curl up inside one of the wings and stay there for eternity, but he told himself _who the hell wouldn't?_ and proceeded to ignore his childish impulses.

"Damn," he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the elegant, sleek feathers. "Cas, you never told me they were like _this_."

"You never asked," the angel replied coolly, nuzzling into the back of Dean's neck. He wrapped his arms around the hunter's torso and sighed softly. The man was no longer shaking he noted, so mission accomplished. "And there really wasn't much opportunity to bring it up…"

"Yeah…" Dean agreed distractedly. There was a comfortable silence during which Dean did some more exploring with Castiel's wings and Castiel enjoyed the soft touches and brushes to his feathers. He couldn't remember how long ago the last time someone caressed his wings like this was, but it felt like an eternity.

But all good things come to an end.

"Cas?"

The angel's brows furrowed at Dean's tone, knowing that now his time with Dean had run out. He looked up at the hunter, who was staring at him with confusion and growing panic in his eyes. "Cas?" he asked again, turning around fully so that he could properly look at his friend, who was flickering like a bad TV connection.

"Dean. Dean, listen to me," Cas said firmly, taking Dean's head in his hands gently. He could see himself flicker some more. Time was short. Dean raised a hand and placed it over Cas', trying to curl his fingers around the angel's palm. "I know things are bad right now, but I need you to have a little faith—hey, listen to me. Focus, Dean."

Dean kept shaking his head, the intensity of the hurt in his eyes nearly tangible. "Cas, you can't leave me again. No. Not you too, Cas…" he murmured, using his other hand to try and clutch at the angel's trenchcoat.

"I… I can't stay, I'm sorry, Dean, I… I just want you to know it's going to be okay. Please remember that, do you understand?"

No, no he didn't. He didn't understand any of this. Any of what was happening, or what had happened since Castiel had just walked up to him like it was normal, like he hadn't died in front of Dean's eyes, and didn't bother explaining why or how he was back. He didn't understand the touches, the kissing, the cuddling, why he was okay with any of that. He didn't understand why he'd shown his wings. He didn't understand why he was leaving now, why _now,_ after all of that? Dean had been rolling with the punches until now. They'd been toeing the line, but now Cas thought he could leave? No.

"Cas? You can't leave me here. You kissed me, Cas. Kissing doesn't mean you leave!"

Funny, since every person he'd ever kissed had either left him or he'd been forced to leave. Lisa, Anna, Jo… and so many one-night stands who had so much potential. But this… this felt different. This didn't feel like it's supposed to be goodbye, and if it is, then he wants to change that. Because this time he doesn't feel helpless, this time he isn't choosing between Sammy and someone. This time can be different, dammit!

Dean tried to clutch the fading trenchcoat harder. He reached out and pulled Castiel forward, pulling him to his chest and holding him tight.

"You're not leaving me, Cas. You can't leave me. You can't do all this and leave me."

Cas was a little more than transparent at this point. He wiggled up between Dean's arms and reached up, grabbing the back of the hunter's head and crushing their lips together in one last desperate kiss. An apology from one end, a plea from the other. He brought a gigantic wing down and brushed the tips in a way supposed to be soothing across Dean's back.

And then, as soon as he came, Castiel was gone.

Dean stared at the empty air where his angel had been moments before, his shaking hands still clutching at nothing. It was so much colder now that Castiel and his wings were gone, Dean felt like he would freeze. But he couldn't move.

He slammed both fists into the ground so hard that it sent shockwaves of pain up both arms, rattling his shoulders. And he screamed.

 ** _"CAS!"_**

The sky flickered, then burned bright white.

Dean woke up screaming, blinded by bright light. When he was able to see again, he was not in a room that was familiar. His first thought was " _this isn't my room_ ". Then his second thought was " _that room burned to the ground_ ".

Then he looked around for Sammy. No Sammy.

" _Oh yeah, Sammy is in Hell._ "

But he did see the wide-eyed brunette from the bar last night half-dressed by the light switch.

" _Fuck…_ "

"I…" he began but she raised one perfectly manicured hand and stopped him in his tracks.

"Whoever 'Cas' is, I don't want to know, sweetie. I just want to know where my pants are."

Dean stared at her with squinted eyes for a moment, his mouth set in a grim line before he gestured to the kitchen-area of the hotel. "Over there somewhere."

She nodded and took her hand from the light switch, leaving into the kitchen. While she was gone, Dean took the opportunity to swipe the covers off and drag on a pair of boxers.

"Alright, honey. Have any cash?"

Dean turned, money already in hand from his wallet that was in his discarded jeans. He handed it to her, expression half between pissed and blank. She smiled at the hundred dollar bill, stuck it in her bra, and left in a gust of perfume and sex, throwing a "thanks for the ride, doll," over her shoulder.

Once the door was closed, Dean stared at it a minute before he silently dragged his sorry ass to the kitchen, and drank straight from the bottle of whiskey in the fridge, unaware of the man in the trench coat in the parking lot.


End file.
